Homeward Bound:

It was close to four o’clock in the morning as Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape stood in the Chamber of Secrets.

“Are you positive Potter was lying?” asked Snape.

The Headmaster arched an amused brow at him.

“My boy, I work with the Wizengamot,” he said wryly. “If I can play in that nest of vipers, I think I can read a twelve year old child. I must say, I am surprised you of all people are defending him. You have not been very subtle in your dealings with Mr Potter.”

The last was delivered with a hint of disapproval.

Snape glared at him.

“The story makes sense,” he said with a sneer. “The damage the body sustained corresponds with what Potter said. The diary and the Dark Lord would have had to have been bound closely together by magic, thus a spell cast on one would affect the other. Besides, the Dark Lord would never let a spell as weak as incendio past his guard. It’s the only way Potter could have-“

He cut off abruptly.

“Wait a moment,” he said quietly.” You said you read him, does that mean you used legilimency?”  

Dumbledore winced.

“I attempted legilimency,” he corrected softly. “I deemed the situation severe enough to warrant its use. However, Mr Potter did not look me in the eye once during my questioning. It was very obvious that he wasn’t being entirely truthful...but at the same time, I am not sure what he was lying about and why he would lie to me at all.”

He spread his arms out before him, gesturing towards the surrounding Chamber.

“That is why we are here. If Harry Potter will not provide us with answers, then we shall seek them here.”

Snape walked to stand over Riddle’s remains and stared at it intently.

“I’m not sure how much we will find,” he said after a moments thought. “The fire has probably destroyed any physical evidence and we don’t even know what exactly we are looking for.”

Dumbledore nodded absently, before he reached into his robes and revealed his wand. He frowned for a moment in thought, he knew just the spell for this task.

The Compatior charm was a spell of Dumbledore’s own design, a hybrid of the most masterful charm-work and legilimency. As far as he knew, he was the only wizard alive with the skill to cast it, with the possible exception of Lord Voldemort.

Wizards were powerful beings and that power sometimes worked beyond their control. When a wizard experienced particularly strong emotions, their magic tended to leak from the body and imprint on the surrounding area. The spell enabled the Headmaster to sense these imprints and actually experience the emotions himself. The mental aspect of the spell was why Dumbledore kept it to himself, any wizard that hadn’t mastered the mental arts would likely find their own mind overwhelmed and shredded by the emotions they experienced.

The Headmaster focused his considerable will and twirled his wand in a complex movement, directing it at the place Ginny’s body had lain. Waves of sky-blue light spread out from his wand, gently coming to rest around the surrounding area.

Immediately he felt his mind buckle under the assault of Ginny’s final moments. He felt her terror, her sense of utter helplessness.

He flinched as her screams reverberated in his head, the screams she wasn’t able to give voice under Riddle’s spell.

“Albus?’ Snape questioned, concerned.

Dumbledore broke of the spell with a sigh.

“She was conscious,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sorrow. “She was conscious to the very last second, as Tom drained her.”

Even Snape looked disturbed.

Dumbledore couldn’t blame him. The girl’s emotions as Tom slowly and inexorably leached her of life had been horrifying to say the least. He was thankful his spell only allowed him to experience the emotion and not the sensation.

But Ginny’s imprints had revealed nothing to the Headmaster, he needed to cast the spell once more.

He walked to stand before the remains of Tom Riddle and took in the sight before him.

There was nothing left of the boy’s robes or flesh, all that remained was a skeleton partially reduced to ash. He noticed the chest appeared to have collapsed.

‘The flame must have eroded the sternum,”’ he mused thoughtfully. “This would have resulted in the bone collapsing into the chest cavity.”

Severus was correct, the remains did indeed support Harry’s story. Harry Potter, while a powerful wizard for his age, was no match for a student four years older than himself. Especially if that wizard was Tom Riddle, perhaps the most brilliant student to ever set foot in Hogwarts. Indeed, even if by some miracle Harry struck Riddle with the incendio, it was extremely unlikely it would cause so much damage. That spell was for lighting cigars and fireplaces, not cremating bodies.

But there was more to Harry’s story, he was sure of it. Perhaps Tom had the answers…

After taking several breaths to refocus his mind and brace himself for the onslaught of emotions he knew would assail him. He repeated the same complex gesture and cast the spell once more.

He was suffocating.

Fear…shock…horror…and a desperate fury.

The air itself seemed to quake with the force of that fury.

He tried to gather his wits and focus his mind once more, but it was like trying to catch leaves in the midst of a hurricane. He felt himself fall to his knees. Something appeared to be shaking him and he distantly heard his name being called.

Suddenly, he felt something strike his face and remarkably he felt the spell’s hold on his mind lesson for a second and that second was all he needed. With a monumental effort of will, he cancelled the spell.

His body sagged with relief and he collapsed to the Chamber floor exhausted. Dimly he felt his mouth being forced open and a warm liquid trickle down his throat. The warmth quickly spread throughout his body revitalizing him.

‘Pepper-up potion,’ he registered, his mental facilities returning with his physical strength.

Dumbledore opened his eyes to find his colleague staring at him with a fearful expression.

“Albus, are you alright?” Snape asked.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and nodded weakly, unable to talk just yet, but already feeling his magic working to renew his strength.

“What happened?”

The Headmaster frowned at that question.

He knew full well of Tom Riddle’s fear of death and knew the emotions would be extreme. He had prepared to face the shock and fear that were atypical of anyone about to experience a violent end.

Anyone…but there was more than one imprint on that body. He was skilled enough in the mental arts to withstand any single imprint, no matter how traumatic. But even his prodigious skill could not handle two, especially if the second imprint was as strong, or perhaps even stronger than the first.

 

The dual imprints were woven so closely together they were almost indistinguishable. Only one thing truly separated them and that was the depthless anger that belonged to the second. Since Ginny had passed on, it was quite obvious who it belonged to, but it raised far more questions than it answered.

Harry claimed he had destroyed the diary which in turn destroyed Tom, which by itself was actually plausible. But Harry would have had to be in very close proximity to Tom in order to imprint on him, he literally had to be touching him. It was highly doubtful Harry would have had time to cast anything before Tom tore him apart.

It frustrated him that despite almost being rendered catatonic by his own spell, he had discovered almost nothing of use. He had merely confirmed what he already knew.

That Harry had lied to him.

What was even more frustrating was that he had failed to uncover the truth despite having all the evidence at his finger tips. Perhaps he had finally gone senile?

No, Severus hadn’t discovered anything either despite his animosity towards Harry and his exceptional intelligence.

Speaking of the Potions Master…

Apparently he was satisfied with the Headmaster’s health, as he was staring past him with an expression of longing on his face.

Dumbledore turned his head and managed a weak smile as he saw his colleague was staring at the basilisk. He supposed that any potions master would drool thinking about the possibility of harvesting such a rare and powerful creature.

His smile widened as an idea occurred to him.

“It’s yours,” he said simply.

“What?” Snape spluttered incredulously.

“It’s yours,” Dumbledore repeated with a chuckle. “As one of the greatest potions masters in Britain, I’m sure you will put it to good use.

A genuine grin spread across Snape’s face as he imagined what potions he could brew. Literally every inch of the serpent could be used to create unbelievably potent brews. The venom, the fangs, the eyes-

“On one condition.” Dumbledore interrupted his musings with a guilty smile.

Snape’s heart sank as soon as he saw that smile, but he knew he couldn’t pass up such an opportunity.

“What do you need?” He asked with a sigh.

Dumbledore beamed at him.

“Oh, it’s quite simple really,” the Headmaster said. “I need you to keep a closer eye on Harry Potter and to discover the truth about what occurred here.

He paused and his smile faded.

“Do you recall the promise I made you make,” he continued. “About never using legilimency on the students?”

Snape nodded hesitantly.

“That promise no longer applies to Harry Potter,” Dumbledore said quietly. “You may use all the power and skill to possess to discover the truth. However, you must be discreet. We cannot afford to lose his trust.”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed for a moment.

“I’m sure you will not abuse my trust Severus…”

Snape nodded an affirmative.

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore. “I believe we have discovered all we can here, but take Tom back with us just in case.”

The two wizards exited the chamber, missing the still-bloodied fang that lay submerged in the pool of water behind them.

________________________________________________________________________

Dear Diary

It has been a week since I started at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry. When Professor Dumbledore came to me in the orphanage, I hoped that I could find people who did not think I was a freak.

I was wrong.

My housemates, the Slytherins, are just like the others at the orphanage. They think I’m weaker than them because I’m not a pure-blood. I’ve done everything I can to show them I’m worthy. My marks are the highest in every single one of our classes, but this seems to make them angrier.

I know it’s pointless to talk to the professors about it. Professor Slughorn only seems to pay attention to the older students and I don’t think Professor Dumbledore likes me very much. He probably thinks I’m a freak too. I think there is only one way to make it stop, to make them see that I am worthy of being called a wizard.

I’ll just have to do to them what I did to the others in the orphanage.  It won’t be easy, the students here have magic like I do, but I’ve noticed all of the students in my year seem know as little as I do about magic, less so in fact. I have heard many of them mention incidents of “accidental magic”, but nothing more. None of them seem to have any control. Not like me.

I must learn more, the older students have left me alone so far, but I think that will change soon judging by the way they look at me.

I need to find a way to become stronger than them all.

Harry yawned as he closed the thick book. He awakened many times during the night, his dreams plagued by the events of the chamber. After finally abandoning his attempts to sleep he decided to find something to occupy himself with. He had thought reading the diary would have been more interesting than counting the ceiling tiles or listening to the faint sounds of Madam Pomphrey scurrying around.

It turned out he was right on that count. The diary was fascinating, albeit a little chilling. Tom’s final thoughts on how he would become stronger were certainly prophetic. And what had he done to those people at the orphanage?

Harry knew he should be feeling sickened at the thought of Tom using his powers the way he had, but instead he felt a strange sense of kinship and dare he say it…

Envy.

Harry knew firsthand how cruel people could be. After all, he had spent most of his life being trodden on by his Aunt and Uncle. Not to mention the beatings he had sustained from his cousin and his little gang. But Tom had found a way to turn the tables on his oppressors, even before he went to Hogwarts. Harry was going into his third year and yet he still had to walk around on tender hooks for fear of upsetting them.

‘His third year…’

Harry recalled many bouts of accidental magic when he was younger, but those incidents were unintentional. Tom’s words, while vague, indicated that he had actually planned his use of magic, that he had a measure of control over his powers. What had Tom been capable of without a wand?

Harry removed one of the pillows behind his head and placed it in the centre of the bed.

And how could he accomplish the same?

He frowned in thought. He couldn’t say the words out loud, that would bring Madam Pomphrey calling. Riddle hadn’t even known about the spell anyway…

‘Maybe I should start from the beginning, it can’t hurt to think the words anyway.’

He raised his hand out in front of him.

‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ he thought at the pillow, waving his hand at it uncertainly.

The pillow didn’t so much as twitch.

Harry sighed in dismay.

Was he simply to weak a wizard to do this? Tom was a fledgling Dark Lord after all, and he hadn’t heard any of his friends mention having any control ever their powers…

‘No,’ Harry thought, a sliver of anger coursing through him.

Tom had been less than a first year when he had done this. Dark Lord or not, Harry couldn’t believe someone who hadn’t even started at Hogwarts could be stronger than him. There was no way he was that weak a wizard.

He raised his hand again and gestured furiously at the pillow.

‘Up!’

The pillow shot into the air so quickly it almost ripped out of its casing, before it slammed into the ceiling with a loud thud.

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock as a gentle rain of feathers floated softly down towards him.

The look of shock quickly transformed into a broad grin.

‘I did it!’

“What on earth is that racket!” A piercing feminine shriek interrupted his celebratory thoughts.

Seconds later the blinds around his bed flew open to reveal Madam Pomprehy’s angry visage. Her expression only darkened as the pillow fell from the ceiling, whooshing past her face as it landed on the bed.

“Sorry Madam Pomphrey,” Harry said, thinking quickly. “Charms mishap, I was practicing for the exams.”

The nurse glowered at him, but Harry interrupted her before she could go on a tangent.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said with what he hoped passed for genuine sincerity. “But could you tell me how everyone is doing after…everything?”

Madam Pomphrey’s fearsome disposition softened instantly.

“Oh of course, you poor dear,” she said gently. “The Weasleys are naturally distraught, but at least I have some good news.”

She reached into her robes and pulled out a large bottle of acid green liquid.

“The mandrake drought is ready,” she said with a smile. “Miss Granger and the other students will be up and about in no time.”

A few minutes later, Harry stood at Hermione’s bedside, watching her stirring form intently. Madam Pomphrey had administered the potion, now all they could do was wait until she revived. He was pleased that she was finally going to recover, but he knew she would expect him to tell her everything that had happened while she was incapacitated.

He also knew she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say.

Both he and Madam Pomphrey were startled when Hermione gasped and flung herself away from them, her eyes wide in terror.

Madam Pomphrey immediately wrapped her arms around her.

“Calm yourself Miss Granger!”

Despite the order, Hermione showed no signs of calming down and continued to thrash about wildly.

Harry stood aside and let Madame Pomphrey try calm her down. He had no idea what was causing her so much distress. The hospital wing wasn’t exactly what one would call scary.

He took a step towards her, only for her to recoil even more. Harry could hear small, panicked sobs were escaping her now.

“GET AWAY!” she shrieked, terrified.

“Hermione, it’s me,” he said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. “It’s Harry, your best friend.”

Hermione stopped her frenzied attempts at escape and her eyes seemed to become less panicked and more confused.

Harry took this as a good sign and continued speaking.

“You’re in the hospital wing with Madame Pompfrey. We aren’t going to hurt you; we’re trying to help you.”

Hermione leaned over Madame Pomphrey’s shoulder to take a closer look at him, focused and alert now.

“Harry?” she asked as if she couldn’t believe she was seeing him.

Harry smiled at her comfortingly.

“Yes, it’s me.”

He watched as she let go of Madame Pomphrey, all the tension leaving her body.. She sobbed again, but this time it appeared it was out of relief.

“Thank God,” she breathed. “I thought it was going to get me.”

To Hermione, it seemed as if no time had passed since her encounter with the basilisk. If that was the case, Harry thought her reaction was completely justified.

He waited patiently as Hermione calmed down and sighed in resignation when she asked him that inevitable question.

“What happened?”

________________________________________________________________________

He told her exactly what he had told the Headmaster and in the end her reaction was just as he had anticipated.

She gripped him in a painfully tight hug and began to bemoan the fate of Ginny and her family.

He felt a momentary pang of guilt as he realized he hadn’t spared the girl a moment of thought since he left the Chamber, but he banished it quickly. When it came down to it, the only reason he had survived was because Tom liked to play with his prey. There was nothing he could have done to prevent the diary from consuming her.

‘She stole it from you…’

Harry stiffened in Hermione’s arms as the traitorous and almost foreign thought crossed his mind.

It was accompanied by a touch of anger.

“Oh, Harry it wasn’t your fault,” Hermione said soothingly, misinterpreting his reaction.

No it certainly wasn’t.

 

Ginny had taken the diary after he had discovered the truth about Hagrid’s innocence. If it had still been in his possession, he would have confronted Tom and probably destroyed the book then and there. It was her fault that he had nearly been tortured and killed, her own fault that she had died. There was nothing he could have done to prevent her from writing in the book.

There was no reason to point fingers though Harry thought. Not anymore. Tom was dead, his diary nestled comfortably in his robe pocket, completely powerless. The fact that Dumbledore believed his tale was icing on the cake. Life would go on as it always had.

He glanced down at his hand behind Hermione’s shoulder.

Perhaps, it would go more smoothly if he could learn to control his powers as Tom had.

Hermione craned her neck over his shoulder before she released Harry from her crushing grip.

“Good morning Professor McGonnagall,” she said politely.

Harry blinked, and turned around to see the professor standing behind them, an unexpectedly soft smile on her face.

“Good Morning to you to Ms Granger, Mr Potter,” she said briskly. “The Headmaster will be making a special announcement concerning Ginny Weasley now, he wishes for everyone to be present.”

She moved towards the infirmary door and gestured for them to follow her.

Harry felt another soft sigh escape him; first Dumbledore had questioned him and then Hermione. Now the entire student body would be waiting to swarm him.

He supposed it wouldn’t be that bad.

How hard could it be to fool the students, when he had managed to fool the Headmaster?

_______________________________________________________________________

Harry stood at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, waiting for his uncle to arrive with an unexpected feeling in his gut.

Anticipation.

The last week of Hogwarts had been interesting to say the least. After Dumbledore had paid Ginny Weasely her respects, he had announced that exams would be cancelled due to the hardships the student body had experienced this year. While lessons had continued, they were extremely relaxed. No assignments or detentions were given, not even from Professor Snape.

Although he did seem to be giving Harry strange looks of late.  

Surprisingly, the students didn’t bother him nearly as much as he had expected. It seemed that they were simply glad that it was over and that they had got through the year unharmed.

The lack of attention the professors and students were giving him allowed him ample time to peruse the pages of the diary and to practice his new found control.

Suffice to say, he had learnt much.

‘It’s about time,’ Harry thought, as he saw his uncle’s car pull up.

He quickly made his way to it and tossed himself in the back seat. His uncle didn’t make any move to greet him, didn’t even acknowledge his presence, but Harry could see his face in the rear-view mirror. It was already purpling in anger.

He grinned mischievously.

“Hello uncle,” Harry said innocently. “How was your day?”

“Great until you arrived,” Uncle Vernon snapped back. “Shut up and pass me my phone, I need to tell your aunt I’ve got you.”

“Yes, uncle,”

There was a faint whooshing noise.

“Your phone, uncle.”

Vernon turned white as his cell phone leisurely floated up from the passenger seat, hovered deliberately in front of his face before gently coming to rest in his lap.

He glanced in the mirror and saw his nephew sitting back calmly a fiendish smile on his face, his arm already lowering to his side.

“We really should be going, shouldn’t we uncle?” Harry asked, his nonchalant tone completely at odds with his expression. “We wouldn’t want to keep Aunt Petunia waiting would we?”

His uncle looked away and wordlessly started the car.

‘Twelve years,’ Harry thought excitedly. ‘Twelve years of being ordered around, of being walked on.’

‘Twelve years of hell to pay back.’

This summer was going to be a blast.